Clover, green and clever, lucky, blending;
you are precious, one of many, spritely;
sought by greedy gamblers, meant for spending--
worldly lovers take what’s theirs, and rightly.
Bright-eyed wild child, full-bloom flower waiting;
out of touch, in prison, chained by your roots;
seeking admiration, pretty, lonely--
trampling suitors will come for you, too.
Steep tree, iced with amber, full of knowledge;
overflowing time betwixt, and breathing;
sweet and wise as one can be--their savage--
whoring ink tithe, halfwits’ stupid feeding.
Snowflake fair, unique like prints of ill men;
pure, and white, of colors free-- your chills, they
linger, sparkle, bite like murder weapons--
fated, fallen, dirty puddle sunbathed.
About the Creator
Sara Wynn
Poetry is my language, and Earth is my playground.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.